


Delirium

by dearxalchemist



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, First Kiss, Hallucinations, Medicine, Mission Fic, Mostly Gallya, OT3 hints, Pre-OT3, answered prompt, drug mention, gallya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 05:51:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7606174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearxalchemist/pseuds/dearxalchemist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon didn’t touch the wound. He simply stepped back from the couch and went for the back end of the plane, instantly going through the cabinets placed in the back. He threw all the doors open, rifling through anything and everything he could get his hands on. He found a first aid kit and tossed it across the floor to Illya who was still kneeling over Gaby, his blonde hair matting down over his forehead as he pressed a careful kiss to the mechanic’s temple. Napoleon’s chest tightened as he watched the small moment between the two of them, listening to Gaby’s soft whine as if the kiss had burned her. </p>
<p>Answered prompt:  Could you write a short Gallya/OT3 fic about someone taking medication that has the side effect of auditory/visual hallucinations please?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delirium

Gaby gets cut in Cairo. It’s not deep enough to require stitches and she hides it from the boys until the pain becomes too much and the side of her red dress is stained a darker shade of red. Napoleon sees it first and holds his tongue, tending carefully to her until their Russian comrade sees it and explodes. Gaby is first to push Illya back, hands on his chest, fingers curling weakly into his shirt. There’s a fine layer of sweat covering her flesh and even with her tan skin, she is looking pale. 

“What happened?” Napoleon is calm, his fingers drawing over Gaby’s shoulders, pulling her back carefully from Illya, making her sit down in the seat on the small private plane. Their mission is over with, they’ve saved the day again with minimal casualties in their wake but now Napoleon isn’t so sure he can call this one a success. Not when Gaby’s breath is coming out ragged and she keeps closing her eyes only to open them again with a sort of far off look. 

“Remember when we stormed that facility owned by Tarh?” She licked over her bottom lip reaching up to wipe away the sweat that was beading up along the top of her lip. The small woman shifted in the seat of the plane, her fingers digging into the arms of the chair as she shifted. She took another deep breath as if to steady herself. Illya stood, head bent with worry in his blue eyes. He was too tall for the small plane, but it didn’t stop him from leaving his seat and kneeling in front of her own. His hands covered her knees where her dress was partially pulled up from her position and he carefully let his thumb stroke over her scraped knee, brushing away desert sand. 

Napoleon nodded to her words as if to make her carry on, she looked from Napoleon to Illya slowly, as if waiting for one of them to get angry with her. She was still new in comparison to the two men surrounding her. Gaby didn’t have years of specialized training, no military background, she was simply a very good mechanic with exceptional acting skills and sharp wits. Napoleon had bragged about her in Istanbul, commenting that she had more courage in her than half of the CIA. Illya hadn’t compared her to anyone, but simply agreed with the American. She moved her hand over her side idly, fingers brushing over the wet spot on her dress. Her breath hitched and Illya’s fingers on her legs tightened for just a fraction of a second. He glanced up to Napoleon and gave him a warning look as Gaby pushed his hands away, waving her fingers to him as if to shoo him away. 

“Well, while you two were disabling the drill, I was in his office.” 

“Why did you go in there?” Illya interrupted her, hands moving up as if to touch her but he stopped and settled for dropping his hands on the armrests of the cushioned seat. The plane was already airborne. The engine rumbled beneath his knees, they were probably halfway home to London by now. He made a mental note to send word to Headquarters to prep a medical bag for the small woman. 

Gaby huffed as he interrupted her, but instead of sounding irritated she sounded out of breath. Like she had been running miles just moments before to find the words on the tip of her tongue. She reached up and pushed at her bangs. They were soaked in sweat and she closed her eyes, brows furrowing, “I-I...I went to find evidence.” Her voice trailed off, she sounded further away from them with every heavy breath she took. 

Illya sent a hard look to Napoleon and the two of them took her hands, drawing her up out of the seat. Illya pulled her into his chest, standing carefully hunched over with her in his arms. She didn’t protest much at all. His sweater caught a soft moan from her lips and he frowned heavily. Napoleon brushed his hand down her spine and moved behind the row of seats to the middle of the plane where a couch-like bench had been built in to the plane for long missions. He pushed the small pillows off of it and moved back as Illya carefully put the small woman down. Gaby’s eyes were closed now and she was breathing short and shallow, only making soft noises when they rolled her over. Without asking, Napoleon’s thief-like fingers had the zipper on her dress down her back. He peeled the fabric back, watching as it stuck to her skin in the tacky blood around the wound. He swallowed hard and watched as Illya frowned. The wound was a dark, angry red with her skin puffed around it. Illya reached forward, touching the tender area and she jerked against the couch, legs curling up under her as she covered her face with both hands, “It hurts,” She breathed out against her palm.

“Peril, it’s--” Napoleon looked at the wound, it wasn’t deep but it looked like had already started festering with dark colors surrounding the smeared blood. 

“Poisoned?” Illya guessed almost, he had seen wounds like this before in his days with the KGB as a solo agent. He had been on a mission in Mongolia then, fighting back a knife wielder who had been known for coating his blade in the venom of amphibians found in the thick jungles surrounding their territory. 

“I was going to go for infected but, poisoned sounds right.” Napoleon didn’t touch the wound. He simply stepped back from the couch and went for the back end of the plane, instantly going through the cabinets placed in the back. He threw all the doors open, rifling through anything and everything he could get his hands on. He found a first aid kit and tossed it across the floor to Illya who was still kneeling over Gaby, his blonde hair matting down over his forehead as he pressed a careful kiss to the mechanic’s temple. Napoleon’s chest tightened as he watched the small moment between the two of them, listening to Gaby’s soft whine as if the kiss had burned her. 

Illya looked back at him and Napoleon looked away going back to digging through the bags. He found another first aid kit and then another bag labeled for emergencies. He nearly broke the zipper prying the olive colored bag open. Flashlights, flares and batteries came rolling out across the floor, along with another kit and antibiotics with yellow labels across them. He snatched them up and moved back to Peril who had the first-aid kit open in his lap. He was carefully running an alcohol soaked piece of gauze around the outside of her wound. Gaby nearly shrieked, moving her hands over as if to stop him. Napoleon caught her fingers in one hand and squeezed gently as if to soothe and distract her. She squeezed his hand back with weak fingers. He passed the small kit down to Illya, who unzipped it without thinking twice, pulling out the first syringe and glancing up at Napoleon who shrugged with that same worried look etching over his features. A few small clear vials rolled out onto the little rough carpet of the cabin and Illya snatched one up, squinting at it. There was tiny print along the label and he tried to make out the long words strung together along the top of it. The first vial was adrenaline. He made a face and set that one aside, juggling for a moment to grab the next one. Solo moved to the edge of the couch with his fingers still caught in her weak grasp. He stroked the length of her arm in an attempt to comfort her, watching Illya’s movements carefully. 

“I do not know which of one these can help,” Frustration sank into his words as he moved from one vial to another. Unsure of which were possible antibiotics. 

“Read them off to me.” Napoleon offered, carefully running his hand further up her arm, palm curving over her bicep to stop her from lashing out as Illya prodded at her side. 

“Tet-ra-... Tetra?” Illya’s lips fumbled the line and Napoleon shook his head and he moved that vial aside hitting the next one, “Pen…I do not know but it has this symbol on it.” Illya held the vial up and Napoleon squinted at it as Gaby’s lips parted with something that sounded like a cross between a shriek and a moan and Illya looks frantic. Napoleon’s never seen him so unwound -- unhinged in the middle of a panic. The Russian’s fingers are shaking, but not with the rhythmic tapping that seems to be his nervous tick. No, if Napoleon had to guess, this was pure fear. He felt it too, sinking low in his stomach like a lead ball. He pushed the feeling down and glanced to Gaby. Her eyes were still close and her breathing nearly non-existent except for a few shallow bursts of life. 

“Give it to her,” Napoleon made the call and Illya looked up at him, brows furrowing together. 

“We do not know what it is…” Illya’s fingers shook but he still picked up the empty syringe, pulled the hygienic paper away, crumbling it in his palm as he held it up, going through with the motions anyways.

“If it was one of us, she’d do it.” 

Illya stuck the syringe in the little vial and nearly drained it all before pulling the needle free and flicking it to knock any air free. He nodded to no one in particular as if imagining the tables being turned. Gaby would stick them in a heartbeat if it meant the chance to save them. She was unyielding in her love for the both of them. How she could love them both was something Illya was still coming to terms with. He loved the little German woman, but when he glanced up at Napoleon, he felt a twinge in his chest. It was a fondness he couldn’t quite get his hands on and when they kissed, he didn’t shove the American away. He had after all kissed Napoleon first.

Napoleon pulled Gaby’s arm straight and held tight to her, “Illya,” He breathed out the Russian’s name instead of the nickname he so loved to use. 

He didn’t need to be told twice, he moved to the soft spot of Gaby’s arm and ran her thumb over the crease of her elbow before sticking the needle in the dark vein against the skin. He depressed the plunger until all of the clear fluid was gone. Gaby moaned softly and then everything went quiet. Her grip on Napoleon slackened and Illya’s lips parted like he was going to say something, but he snapped it shut looking to the American for help.

“What now?” Illya asked with his thick accent filling the cabin.

Solo’s fingers slid up her arm and he smoothed her damp bangs away. He ran a thumb over her brow and down the side of her cheek as if memorizing her like one of his many stolen works of art, “Now we wait.”

\------

Everything was a swirl of color, no real substance in the world around her. She felt heavy, muscles worn and veins burning. She felt like she had the worst hangover of her life only amplified on a scale too large for her to measure. Gaby moaned and rolled over, blinking her eyes open slowly. Her eyelids even felt heavy and she wanted to reach up and rub at them but she couldn’t move her hands well enough and opted to close them again as a wave of nausea hit her, making her feel like she was on a boat again in the middle of the Aegean sea. Only that couldn’t be, because they had been in Cairo, taking down a man determined to drill the resources out of the land. She moaned again, colors blurring behind her eyes as voices came to her.

“She’s moving.” 

“You are lucky Cowboy!” A sharper voice sounded and Gaby felt the burst of colors behind her eyes explode. She wasn’t sure if she was hearing everything or not, was she dead. She wondered if she was dying, if this was it. She remembered the man in the office, swinging at her, knife in his hand. He had managed to rip her dress, the good expensive dress Illya had found for her in the middle of a bazaar. 

Napoleon had insisted she wear real diamonds with it. He had put them in her ears for her with his hand on the back of her neck tilting her head up to his. He had carefully put them in and let his fingers linger on the soft edge of her earlobes, grinning at her like she was the prize possession in his collection of beautiful things. The American let his hands drift down, palms smoothing over the column of her throat down to the edge of her collarbone. His calloused fingers had slipped into the edge of her red dress and thumbed at the soft fabric, marveling at it. Then Illya had come back into their shared hotel room and their moment was gone. 

“If she survives this, we have to make a choice.” 

She rolled onto her side and her entire body jerked, aching at the sensation on her side. Gaby had rolled onto her bad side and it didn’t take long for someone to push her back over onto her back. Her eyes fluttered open and she caught sight of something breath-taking. A golden halo of hair, bright light, an angel no doubt if she ever believed in them, there was one hovering over her now. She smiled lazily, “I’m not ready to go,” She muttered, tongue feeling thick in her mouth.

A cool hand touched her cheek, “We are not letting go.” 

“Don’t make the choice.” Gaby closed her eyes and she was standing back in Cairo, leaning in the doorway of their shared hotel room. She had the robe wrapped tightly around her, hair still dripping from her shower and she just watched the two men in her life bicker back and forth on the couch. They constantly snipped back at one another, each word worse than the last and Solo would throw his head back and laugh after each of Illya’s replies. It was almost endearing really, watching Illya’s pale fingers tick over his chess pieces and Solo crinkling the newspaper in his hand. 

She laughed and caught their attention. Illya’s head jerked up in her direction, cheeks going pink and then he looked away. She glanced to Solo who smiled affectionately at her, taking the time to trail his gaze from the crown of her head to the edges of her robe. She resisted the urge to open it for him, instead she waved him off with a few flicks of her fingers and then stepped towards their Russian comrade. 

Solo must have gotten the hint because he muttered something of needing to make a call and left the two of them alone. Illya hadn’t looked up since she had made her appearance known. He focused on his game even though he had yet to move a single piece. She watched his hand shake, watched his chest rise and fall as his breathing increased. Then, without warning she touched his cheek. He was warm under her cool fingers and she could see the muscle in his jaw tick like he wanted to smile. She wanted him to smile. Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, all along the edging of dark shadows where he would have to shave again in the morning. His lips parted and she drew her thumb under his chin and tilted his head up, drawing his eyes up to her. She stood taller than him while he sat, but not by much. He looked her over, slowly drawing his gaze up to meet her own and she reached up, thumb pressing into the scar by his eye. He looked away and she drew him back to her, leaning in and looming over him. She kept her eyes open and watched his own flutter shut before she pressed her lips along his. No distractions, no knocking on the door, the telephone didn’t ring, it was something magnetic. She closed her eyes and leaned into him, parting her lips along his just to move her hands from his face to his hair, knocking that silly hat away. His hands fisted in the fabric of her robe and shook. He held to her so tightly his knuckles went pale and she kissed him until her lungs burned and he broke away, letting her forehead crash to his. That’s how they always came to be, crashing into one another like opposite ends of a magnet. His lips found hers and she kissed him until everything went still. 

A sharp pain struck her and Gaby gasped, both eyes opening as she sat up in the bed. She heard a scream and wondered vaguely if it was coming from her. A cool hand pressed itself across her chest, holding her down and she garbled out something in German only to hear someone reply to her in the worst German she had ever heard coming from an American. 

She closed her lips, tried to breathe deeper, but it was difficult with her heart racing in her chest and the swirl of colors around her. Nothing was in focus. Everything was a blur and she could barely hear the voices around her, just the faint reassurances and cool hand on her cheek. 

“Don’t make the choice,” Gaby repeated between pants, her fingers reaching up to grab the cool hand. She squeezed the fingers, holding to whoever it was looming over her. 

Solo eased into her vision, vibrant blue eyes catching her attention. She focused on him as she licked over her lips and took a deep breath. The plane must have been landing because everything was jerking under her, the vibrations from the engines rattling in her bones. She took another breath and squeezed the hand again, “Gaby,” Solo spoke in that charming tone of his, “What choice are you talking about?” 

She watched his hand come up and stroke the edge of her cheek. Everything around him was bright almost ethereal and she found herself marveling in his handsomeness even as he spoke to her. The German woman reached up for him and he took her hand in his, warmer against her own. It didn’t feel like the same hand and that caused her brows to furrow and she turned her head over. Illya was sitting on the floor of the plane, her hand in both of his. He ran his thumb across the tops of her knuckles back and forth slowly. The Russian man looked up at her and she parted her lips, “Illya.”

He watched her carefully, “You gave us a scare Chop Shop Girl.” He affectionately says her name but she can hear the edge of fear in his words. She pulled her fingers away from his hold and reached up to touch his scar again. He let her but kept his eyes open this time, “You are being strange little girl.” Illya muttered softly--affectionately even, “What are you doing?” 

His accent is a gentle reminder of where he comes from. From the place that put the wall up in her beloved Berlin. The same place that sent soldiers into terrorize her city that destroyed innocent German people’s lives, ruined reputations and more. She soaks it all in and pushes it away, because Illya is not his country. Illya is not a machine, he is warm under her touch and beautiful in the sunlight spilling through the plane’s windows. There’s a jerk in the plane and all three of them move. The private jet is landing, skidding to a halt. The smell of burning rubber is faint in the vents of the plane. Gaby inhales, revels in it and leans over the edge of the uncomfortable couch. Her lips find Illya’s and she kisses him, nearly missing his mouth. It’s sloppy and unexpected and the man freezes under her attention, hands planting on her shoulders and pushing her back while Solo whistles loud.

“Well I thought that would never happen.” The American practically cheers out the words, clapping his hands together in a slow-clap as if giving them a standing ovation for such a performance. 

Illya is red in the face, his mouth is parted in shock and Gaby is confused, her brows pulling together, head falling to the side.

“What are you talking about? We’ve done that before. In Cairo,” She points at Illya and looks at Solo who grins a little wider at the statement.

Illya sputters, “No, no we did not.” He is adamant and she reels for a moment, heart fluttering in her chest as she wracks her brain for the memory of their hotel room, of kissing him. 

“Yes we did,” She insists but Illya only turns pinker before his voice goes low almost silent in the cabin.

“If we were to kiss Chop Shop, you would know. It would not be here and it would not be in front of Cowboy.” He huffs out the words and Gaby’s face goes hot.

“What?” She can’t seem to find the grasp on reality. Her side hurts and the world is still blurry and she reaches up to touch her face, fingers sliding to her ears. No diamonds, only white plastic round balls in her ears. Her heart hammers away at her rib cage as she glances up to the two men in her life, she had dreamed up their entire mission. 

“Easy Peril, you’re confusing the poor woman. Gaby, lay back down and wait. Medical is on their way and so is Waverly. We’ve got quite the report to fill out.” Napoleon winked at her and moved away from her vision, stepping away from both of them in the cabin of the plane to grab his expensive luggage case. Gaby flushed a darker shade of red and Illya didn’t quite meet her gaze, simply reached up and touched his lips like a little boy after his first kiss.

“Illya…”

“Gaby…”

“What was the choice?” She asked finding little comfort in the way her voice wavered. Illya pulled his fingers away from his lip and blew out a soft laugh, if it could be called a laugh.

“Cowboy doesn’t want to do the paperwork if you, if you well did not finish the mission with us.” He almost looked sheepish at the words, as if giving in to the fear that she would leave them so easily. Gaby watched him for a moment, blinking and then turned her head away.

“I made it.” She muttered the words out and his lips twitched into a small smile.

“I will handle paperwork. Cowboy is sloppy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay the Anon person who sent me this, I'm sorry it's not super short and I'm really bad at hallucination scenes. I just hope you enjoyed this and will keep sending me prompts because it's the sweetest thing anyone can do for me. That and give me kudos/comments. Thank you for all being supportive and there needs to so much more OT3 out there. I always take prompts @tulipsohhare


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